


But it's not like that was the end

by Pastel_Rabbit



Series: Not what it seemed in Xen [2]
Category: Half Life VR But The AI Is Self Aware
Genre: Also the usual:, Benrey is a little shit sometimes, Benrey might be a little OOC but with reason, Coomer is still the dad friend, First time writing a sequel so HOOH, Forzen took up baking as a hobby after the Resonance Cascade, M/M, Possession, Spoiler alert he's really good at making cakes and brownies, The Benrey was possessed AU, Tommy might be in this a little more later on, more characters and tags to be added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:35:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24389014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pastel_Rabbit/pseuds/Pastel_Rabbit
Summary: The Science Team have survived the Resonance Cascade, and now they're home free and adjusting as well as they can to a domestic life beyond the end of the script.But there's still one loose end they haven't tied up yet. And it wants to make itself known(HI! This is a sequel of my previous fic 'Possession is NOT a pro gamer move', a three chapter fic about an AU of sorts that Benrey wasn't in control of all his actions. This fic probably won't make sense if you haven't read that one before, so give it a look!)
Relationships: Benrey & Dr. Coomer (Half-Life), Benrey & Forzen, Benrey/Gordon Freeman, Bubby/Dr. Coomer (Half-Life), Implied Forzen/Darnold
Series: Not what it seemed in Xen [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1756465
Comments: 97
Kudos: 424





	1. Showdown

**Author's Note:**

> As said on my Twitter, this is something I wrote as an addition to my previous fic 'Possession is NOT a pro gamer move' which turned into a pretty fully fledged sequel. Chapters will hopefully be posted quickly, I was gonna wait for the whole thing to be written and post the entirety but I'm gonna make you all anticipate instead!
> 
> (TW just in case: This first chapter is mostly a depiction of Benrey's experience with being possessed, and he's not in control of his own body. This first chapter is currently the only one that dwells on the topic though, the others will be fine unless said otherwise!)

Xen is quiet. It isn’t, usually. Xen is a loud, swelling world, filled with the cries of otherworldly beings, the soft whirring of machinery, and every so often, a calming, multicoloured note.

Xen is loud, but never overbearingly so.

And it’s pleasant. Nothing but simple ambiance, white noise you could get used to if you frequented the unnatural plane enough. And this ambiance is what he’s used to whenever he chooses to visit what he can describe best as being his homeworld.

He misses the sound. Benrey’s dulled senses rob him of almost all noise, except for anything close by. One particular sound is a voice he  _ wishes  _ he didn’t have to hear, but he can’t run from it.

In fact, he can’t run at all. He hasn’t had control of his body ever since they arrived.

If you were to ask him why, he’d say he was running into a portal, side by side with Gordon one moment, and the next he was face to face with the empty eye sockets of an entity that had been plaguing him ever since their journey started.

But he knows what really happened, because it’s all laid out in the script.

They got to Xen. Benrey didn’t exit the portal with them. He’d landed in the murky waters of a map too big to be anything but the textbook Boss Arena. The skeleton took his wrist, and pulled him forwards. And his vision filled with blue and his hearing filled with calming notes that forced back his want to resist. 

He’d felt every last agonising second of his model twisting and warping, but his body didn’t allow him to struggle. The skeleton, in his own voice, had told him to calm down, and he’d desperately tried not to.

And then he couldn’t move.

The script is giving him a moment’s rest right now, but he knows what’s next. And the lull can’t prepare him enough. He’ll meet the Science Team in the lair, and they’ll fight, and they’ll kill him. He’ll put up a good offence, sure, but that’s how it has to end.

Because the villain doesn’t win.

And that also goes for when the villain tries to  _ not _ be the villain.

“ **Showdown time soon, huh?** ”

Benrey doesn’t reply. He never likes to communicate verbally at the best of times, yes, but oh how he loves to argue. But now, when his head feels like it’s being held underwater with such displaced gentleness and care that robs the guard’s mind of the anger he should be feeling, he can’t find any drop of spite or sarcasm to fuel himself.

His voice huffs in resignation. Then, it perks up again, and his head clips through the rock wall. “ **Aw, look- Look, they’re still trying to find you.** ”

Benrey looks to where his own hand is pointing. Through the light blue haze, it’s hard to make out any fine details, but he can see the orange form of Dr. Freeman running alongside his team, now down a member.

And he knows it’s Gordon’s voice he hears when screams of his own name attack his dulled hearing.

He forces his heart to be still. It doesn’t work. The sound of his own voice laughing at him lets him know.

“ **Still got your cringe crush on the doctor?** ”

_ Shut up,  _ he thinks, he can’t force himself to speak it.

“ **Ouch, thought we were bros…** ” His own voice replies, almost to  _ taunt  _ him with the fact that he’s no longer the one controlling it. “ **If you wanna get pissy save it ‘till the big end thing, makes it more believable.** ”

The skeleton isn’t given satisfaction of a response.

Benrey feels himself shrug, and he clips back through the wall. He feels himself sit in the red water filling the lair, hating the cold, uneven texture and wishing he could just get up and leave.

_ Get up and leave. _

The thought flashes in his mind, a dim beacon of hope, and he holds onto it like a life-raft had suddenly appeared beside him in the middle of the ocean. He knows it isn’t safe to dwell on something like this for too long. It hears everything he thinks, and it knows everything he’ll try to do.

He has to act quickly.

Benrey forces his legs to uncross. He’s not aiming to stand, just to move. He’ll crawl out of this place if he has to, he’s not going to let some punk-ass script define him as designated villain when he’d come so far in ditching the skeleton altogether. His hands fly out in front of him to catch his weight, and Benrey almost sobs when he realises he’s moving of his own volition for the first time in far too long.

Almost. This is still Benrey, after all.

It takes a while of wincing through pain, and battling with his sore muscles, but eventually he’s somewhat stable on all fours. Moving his leg up to bend below his torso, lifting a hand to push himself up with the knee. Pleading with his own body to let him leave before it’s too late.

“ **You ditching my pad, bro?** ”

His voice- It’s not his voice, it’s booming and carries over the air too much. Benrey is quiet, monotone. But that’s boring for an antagonist.

No, the  _ skeleton’s _ voice rings out, deliberate and cold, an attempt on knocking his focus away. And it works.

Benrey can’t catch himself when his legs buckle, and his face collides with the ground. Hard. He can feel a broken nose, and he knows the skeleton won’t heal it for spite. Noses aren’t bone, after all.

He winces, there’s some far away wonder if it had been of his own doing. His hand reaches up to check the injury, no blood, but he’s more focused on the taunting response than anything else. “ **Clumsy, huh? You- A little clumsy little idiot?** ”

_Shut the fuck._ _Up_.

Benrey doesn’t feel himself move to get up. Instead he stays, face down in the center of the room, and the minutes blend together as he waits. And he’s dreading what’s about to come.

Dreading when he sees those four idiots make their way to the end with the clear want to put whatever eldritch horror that runs this hellscape to rest. Dreading the expressions he’ll have to see when they realise it’s  _ him _ .

His mind wanders back to the talk with Coomer. The saddened understanding in his voice when he finally told the scientist what was happening. Every gentle little reassurance, every comfortable silence shared between. The hug.

He’s not one to vocalise care for others, of course, but having Coomer there to listen had helped him a great deal.

But now, it feels like all Coomer’s efforts have been for nothing. And the thought makes him feel awful, even if it isn’t his fault.

The skeleton says something he doesn’t register. He knows it’s a jab at his emotions, but he doesn’t let himself listen. Partly because he doesn’t want to give this thing the satisfaction, and partly because if he thinks about what he’s feeling too much he’ll want to cry, and that isn’t on brand for him at all.

The Neo-Science Team arrives in the horrible rocky form. He never saw an entrance, so he assumes a portal is to thank.

Or to blame. After a moment, he settles on blame. A cave mouth or a walkway would at least have given them some way to escape.

He knows what’s about to happen as if it’s happened already. He’ll have to watch through hazy, blue vision as he monologues aimlessly with words he doesn’t mean (aside from wanting to play Heavenly Sword, of course. God, how he wishes he was just playing a video game right now) to the people he’d come to see as some sort of a found family in his own little way.

He’ll have to see Gordon’s face, those beautiful eyes that he’s pretty sure are green, squint at his model in confusion, then anger, because there’s no way he’s going to know  _ this  _ is what he meant by possession.

Knowing that nerd, he’s probably expecting the sunken in, pupil-less eyes and the slow, zombie-like, staggering motions. Not a giant security guard staring him down… Idiot.

He’ll stand, the skeleton will call it’s army, it’s ‘friends’, and they’ll fight. And they’ll kill him, and the game will end with him as the defeated bad guy.

Benrey doesn’t even notice the four get closer. He’s too busy relaying everything he  _ knows _ is about to come, he’s forgotten it’s already begun.

Gordon, genuine concern lacing his voice that breaks Benrey’s heart when he finally registers the sound, asks him if he’s okay. It’s the same tone he’s heard so many times before, when he almost got blasted by a military bomb, the moment’s lull after he’d been held at gunpoint by Forzen while talking him out of holding a dog hostage.

This time, it’s even harder to hear.

Benrey looks up. Wide, glowing eyes scanning across the faces of his friends. Tommy, holding his gun as though he were trying to strangle it, Coomer and Bubby standing hand in hand, and Gordon, at the front, same as ever, yelling up to what must be the most ungodly sight he’s ever seen. Asking where he’d been, what’s happening to him. Most importantly,  _ is he alright _ .

He tries to say no. He tries to warn them.

His voice comes out, loud and mocking, and tells them they’re all going to die.

That’s not how it’s supposed to go.

A hand, not his anymore, claws at the ground and the skeleton rears itself up inside the flesh puppet. It stands, and he watches the four scatter like he’s lifted a rock and disturbed the bugs underneath. 

The three.

Gordon hasn’t moved.

Benrey isn’t sure if it’s on purpose.

He doesn’t know what’s happening.

_ This isn’t how the fight starts,  _ he tells himself, and he knows it’s listening. But he doesn’t expect an answer.

“ **Who said I was letting them win?** ”

Benrey only understands when he watches his own boot swing forwards, and he hears it connect with the metal of an HEV suit.

* * *

His eyes snap open to the view of a bedroom ceiling, and Coomer standing worriedly over him.


	2. Super Punch-Out!! is a boxing video game developed and published by Nintendo for the Super Nintendo Entertainment System

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coomer and Benrey have another conversation, this time, with warnings and video games.

“ **...huh?** ” 

“ _ Shh! _ ” Coomer replies, louder than Benrey despite what he’s trying for. “It’s 2 AM, you’ll wake Dr. Freeman..!”

Benrey notices Coomer’s brows furrow in worry through the darkness, and he assumes he must look confused. For a moment the guard had forgotten where he was.

Thankfully, an arm tightening around his front brings him back to the present. He’s in Gordon’s house, in his bedroom. A few weeks after the party.

He’s in control of his own body. And Gordon’s holding him.

Benrey lets his eyes wander over to the sleeping face next to him. Content and safe. And still wearing his glasses, like an idiot. He soaks in the view for a few calm moments, before remembering the fact that there’s a man standing above him, and he seems to have something to say.

“ **oh,** ” The guard’s expression softens back into a deadpan, and he pulls himself out of Gordon’s limp hold to sit up on the mattress. “ **why you in feetman’s room, you want a story?** ”

Coomer doesn’t quite stifle his laughter, and Benrey watches him ever so carefully remove Gordon’s glasses before he takes a seat beside.

“While I  _ would _ appreciate the noise of another’s voice lulling me to sleep every so often, I had other matters to see to this time. You, for example!” He gestures to Benrey with the arms of the glasses in his hand. Then puts them on. “You were making quite a lot of distressed noise and…” Coomer makes a vague motion with one hand. “Struggling to move, you see- My good fuck how can he  _ see _ in these things, one moment.”

“ **yeaaah, had a fucked up dream, it’s fine. i’m cool.** ” Benrey’s nonchalance is all too forced when he finally grasps what Coomer was talking about.

He bites back the uneasy groan when his head pounds with the delayed reaction of getting up too quick, and it takes all his willpower not to give into the temptation of flopping backwards onto the mattress. While it  _ would  _ be hilarious to wake Gordon up by slamming into his back with the full force of a ‘human’ head inside a metal helmet, he doesn’t need Feetman hearing this conversation.

Plus, he needs sleep the most out of everyone.

Instead, Benrey keeps a hand steady on his forehead, a quiet “ **whooh..** ” escaping his mouth when his vision seems to move more than he does. 

Coomer, now finished with cleaning the dust off Gordon’s glasses, eyes the guard with a knowing frown on his face. They don’t need to say it. But Coomer, talkative and verbose as ever, has to make sure.

“Skeleton?”

“ **bingo.”**

The scientist nods. “Would you like to have this conversation elsewhere? Give our friend a chance to rest?” There’s an unassuming smile on his face, but Benrey can tell that there’s something else at play. He shrugs. Coomers’ smile gains a relieved air.

The two exit for the living room, Gordon’s glasses placed safely aside on his nightstand. 

“I can’t say the nightmares aren’t something I’d expected, you know!”

Benrey shrugs, flopping down onto the couch and curling his legs up to his chest. “ **yea but it’s whatever, i don’t. need sleep, s’fine.** ”

Coomer lets out a hum of agreement, but something about his expression looks unsure. Benrey stares silently at him, and hopes it gets the point across for him to continue. He does, but only because the scientist is a chatterbox.

He lowers himself down onto the other end of the couch, brushing off the knees of his pyjamas, and links both hands together as if he’s taking part in a presentation. “You don’t! But after what we all experienced, your body  _ does _ need ample recovery time. And sleep is the best thing for it, I’m afraid.”

Afraid. A fitting way to describe it.

“Could you… Possibly tell me what you experienced in there?”

The look on Coomer’s face suggests an ulterior goal. Benrey wants to ask, to act suspicious, but he knows he won’t get half as fun of a response as the ones from Gordon, so he relents.

“ **shit before the xen fight. and uhhh, kicked feetman across the room.** ” Benrey’s voice is low and bored, as usual, attempting to mask unease. His expression betrays him. “ **that’s not s’posed to happen.** ”

Coomer nods to himself, as if it’s the response he was expecting. “Your dream went off script.”

Another shrug. “ **yep.** ”

“Just as I feared…” There’s a grim expression in the man’s bright eyes. “We may not be as finished with our skeletal friend as we thought. I hoped not to have this conversation in Gordon’s vicinity, you see, he deserves a break from all this. But…  _ You  _ deserve a warning.”

Coomer’s expression hardens. Benrey isn’t sure he likes what the other is implying.

The scientist lets out a quiet sigh, pulling his arms up and resting his chin atop clasped hands. “I believe it has escaped the game map with us.”

And there it is.

“ **...hm.** ”

“Hm?”

The guard looks away, arms moving to wrap around his legs. “ **hm.** ” He repeats the sound as if it can take the place of any real answer. It doesn’t. And out of the many questions rattling under Benrey’s helmet, all he can settle on is one, short and simple.

“ **so i’m kinda fucked? what happened last time, that. that wasn’t fun.** ”

“Ah yes, but that was before we were all made aware, you see! Five against one, it doesn’t stand a chance! In fact, I’d say this is a brilliant opportunity!”

Coomer beams at the other, pointer finger raised in triumph.

His expression only softens when he notices Benrey’s face.

“Ah…”

Coomer thinks on his actions for a moment. 2:30 in the morning probably isn’t the best time to tell someone the creature that forced them to hurt their friends is still roaming free. And though Benrey keeps his feelings hidden, or simply doesn’t feel much at all, he can see the unease clear as day.

And for Benrey, the ‘unease’ feels more like a part of himself is being torn out. The part of him that had thought he was finally in the clear, finally free to play video games and chill without having to worry about a goddamn low resolution skeleton fucking up his head. The part of him that feels too many emotions that don’t fit the script. That don’t fit who he’s dictated to be.

Benrey feels a hand on his shoulder. He doesn’t even notice he’d been shaking.

“We’re looking out for you, my friend.” Coomer’s voice no longer carries the usual optimism. It’s serious, quiet. Genuine. Benrey knows as well as anyone that it isn’t an empty promise.

“ **nice.** ”

The air slows between them both, cool and refreshing. Sound peters out into nothingness, and both men relax into the couch. For anyone else in the household, the immediate silence would have been awkward, no stimulation to prevent their thoughts from wandering down a path of ever worsening consequences.

But for Coomer, the lack of needed input is always a breath of fresh air for his still-broken AI. And for Benrey, he simply relishes in the quiet.

Company is more than enough for him sometimes. Especially after using his voice so much.

“Benrey,” Coomer pipes up once the silence has done it’s job. “Would you be adverse to a round or two of some Video Games?”

He articulates his words, as always, far too verbose and advertising. Benrey finds comfort in the familiarity. He shrugs, feigning indifference, but Coomer can see the excitement creep into his eyes when the scientist pulls out a pristine SNES from underneath the TV stand. It’s already hooked up, somehow, as if Coomer knew they’d get to this point.

Or maybe he was just playing it earlier. He  _ is _ pretty open about his love for certain games on such a console after all.

Cold, pale hands take the offered controller. Benrey’s thumbs drift across the buttons and d pad, testing it out with a quick tap to everything he sees. He’s not surprised when the Super Punch-Out!! Title card appears on the TV in front of them, but he  _ is _ surprised to see Coomer’s somehow given it a multi-player option. And his own custom opponent.

A few button presses later, and they both happily play into the night. Benrey taunts the other’s every move, rolling his eyes when he gets shushed in favour of their housemates getting their deserved rest. The guard finds himself slowly, finally taking his mind off his uneasy night as he loses his thoughts to repetitive punching and dodging.

When they’ve reached far past 4 AM, Coomer doesn’t notice himself slowing down until the controller slips through his fingers. Benrey immediately knocks his character down with a TKO, making the final score 9 to 13, with Coomer in the lead.

The old man has already fallen asleep when Benrey proposes a rematch. Leaning back into the couch, hands in his lap. Benrey leaves him be.

He climbs over the back of the couch, trudges up the stairs to the guest bedroom, and knocks as loudly as he can to wake the other scientist. And when Bubby emerges, bleary eyed and tangled up in a blanket much too small to be shared, he nonchalantly mentions Coomer’s whereabouts in hopes that Bubby would put his ‘You just woke me up and I’m making that your problem’ reactions on hold.

Thankfully, it does. Bubby (somehow) rolls his eyes and drops the blankets to his feet, makes his way downstairs to collect his boyfriend, and Benrey carries his legs back to Gordon’s own bed.

He decides laying on Gordon’s back and staring into the ceiling is much better than sleeping, though.

Company and quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this chapter seems a lot more calm than the other chapter, you'd be correct! Because honey, you've got a big storm coming.  
> Spoiler alert. Coomer is right.


	3. Hey I know we had that vague argument but like you wanna hang out?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benrey and the Science Team are all doing their best to keep their wits about them after Coomer's foreboding reveal. But they can't all be on high alert 24/7, so when everyone else gets plans, Benrey decides to keep himself busy by getting in touch with an old friend.

The next few days pass along as well as anyone would expect. Benrey puts off sleep as much as he can, much to Gordon’s and Coomer’s concern. He doesn’t care to explain the occasional dozing off during conversations, usually settling on Gordon’s snoring (he doesn’t snore, according to the many times he’s yelled it in protest) keeping him awake through the night.

Eventually, Benrey had explained the situation. Reluctantly, of course, after Gordon woke up to Coomer asking the guard to relay his most recent dreams so he could, somehow, decipher whatever meaning he could pull out of the air.

So far, Benrey’s dreams have been interpreted as the skeleton either closing in, already being here and watching from afar, or having such a sporadic pattern of movement not even the illogical man could pinpoint.

Things had gotten a little more serious the night Coomer insisted they lock every window and keep them shut, no matter how hot. And Benrey had figured after so much, good old Mr. Feetman should get a heads up.

Surprisingly, it  _ wasn’t  _ the last thing needed to fray the poor man’s nerves. Aside from the immediate headcount and obligatory ‘Tell me if you see anything out of the ordinary’ text sent to the entire Science Team.

But since then, everyone is coping with their supposed impending doom. Tommy calls almost daily for updates, mostly about Sunkist, but he makes sure to mention anytime he feels like something has been staring through his window. And Coomer and Bubby are, if reluctantly on Bubby’s part, doing their best to relay anything odd they notice every dinner.

Gordon has started noting down anything important he hears, handing it off to Benrey when he’s up for listening. He’s even been giving Benrey heads up whenever he leaves for shopping. Benrey never comes with him of course, after the day he ate a whole watermelon and got them banned from the local market.

Everything kicks off on one of these days. A day when Gordon wants to meet up with Tommy to get some groceries, and Coomer and Bubby have plans of their own.

“ **wha, you. ate all the gamer fuel, bro?** ”

“ _ No, _ I live with three other people now and one of them thinks dropping the ‘gamer fuel’ off the fucking  _ roof  _ is funny.” Gordon shoots a glare at Benrey, and he immediately fakes a scandalized look, holding his hand to his chest dramatically.

“ **oh OW, feetman, i can’t have fun? a little fun?** ”

He loses the pose to default back to an apathetic slouch, and can’t help the smirk on his face when Gordon has to hide his laughter. “I’d just like it if you didn’t have fun at the expense of my wallet. Okay?”

Benrey shrugs, it seems to be enough for Gordon to accept as an answer. “ **no promises, walletman.** ”

“Not original  _ or  _ creative, you get a B+ for effort. F for execution.”

Gordon makes no attempt to hide the smugness in his voice, and it earns him a pout. Benrey’s eyes flick over to the other men in the room, wordlessly asking them on their own plans with a simple tilt of the head.

“Oh-!”

“None of your damn business, that’s where we’re going!” Bubby finds his moment to interrupt Coomer for once, and visibly relishes in the satisfaction. There’s a grin on his face that meets his eyes, or the closed lines where eyes would usually be.

It’s short-lived when Coomer happily wraps his arm around Bubby’s waist. “He’s booked us a table at a restaurant, we’ll be going on a date!”

Bubby’s expression freezes, then flicks back to annoyance as he whips around to face his partner. Coomer looks up at him with such a sweet yet mischievous smile it makes Benrey let out a bark of laughter at the old man’s expense.

“Could I not have my minute, Harold?”

“Nope!” Is the all too sweet response.

“And don’t even  _ touch _ that Super Nintendo Entertainment System! I bought it for Dr. Coomer, not you.”

Benrey rolls his eyes and pulls himself in, a mocking ‘ **nyeh nyeh nyeh** ’ sound slipping through a thinned frown. It takes all of Bubby’s willpower (and a firm grasp of Coomer’s hand) not to march over and take the system with him, but his plans are cast aside when Coomer pipes up once more, looking at his watch with a comically surprised expression.

“Bubby- Dear, we’ll be missing our reservation if we stall any longer! I really  _ was _ looking forward to trying the steak there, you know!”

Bubby takes one look at the watch, and with a loud yell of “Oh- Fuck!” he hoists the smaller man into his arms and they run through the doorway.

They’re taking the caddie that Bubby somehow fixed and got back to Gordon’s house, so Gordon isn’t surprised when the next sounds he hears are a jovial “Goodbye, Gordon!”, the unmistakable roar of an engine, and a public trash can getting crushed like tinfoil.

He can barely bring himself to react, simply laughing to himself and begging with whatever divine entity is listening in that the two don’t end their date staring at a burning car frame. He turns on his heels, keys at the ready. Benrey fights the urge to ask him to stay.

Instead, the guard pulls Gordon’s hair tie out, tosses it to the other side of the room, and pecks his cheek when he turns to scold him. And suddenly Gordon can’t be mad.

A new tie from Gordon’s wrist taking the place of his now discarded one, he gives Benrey a wave and a ‘don’t set my house on fire while I’m gone’ look, before he disappears through the doorway. Benrey hears him laugh when he yells a goodbye along with the endearingly annoying nickname reserved only for him. And then, he locks the door.

The next few hours drag along at the speed of a fatigued snail. Benrey tries to keep his mind occupied by video games, but Super Punch Out!! isn’t as fun as a solo game anymore, and all the skeleton enemies in his Terraria save pull his mind out of the usual gaming haze altogether. In fact, Benrey hasn’t been able to  _ touch _ most games with skeletal NPCs, though they’re all titles he’s enjoyed before.

Now, he isn’t sure how to kill the time before everyone gets back.

He thinks about taking a nap.

He thinks that’s the stupidest idea ever.

Then, a somewhat less stupid idea crosses his mind, and he tosses aside the custom PS4 controller he knows Gordon must have spent quite a bit of money on, and trudges to the landline. It’s in the kitchen, always on show. Benrey makes a note to poke at Gordon for having something so old fashioned when he gets back.

The number he’s had memorized since he can’t remember when is keyed in on autopilot, and Benrey makes an effort to hold the receiver as close to his mouth as possible.

He doesn’t acknowledge the relief when the person on the other end finally picks up, and a gruff voice answers with a preoccupied “Hello?”

“ **hey- we haven’t uh. met up in ages, bro. you wanna-** ”

“Holy shit, haven’t heard  _ your _ voice in a while.”

Benrey isn’t sure if that’s a good thing or not, from the tone of the other’s voice.

“ **...uhhh.** ”

And they seem to realize, when the speaker lets out the sound of commotion, a metal tray being dropped, and a loud string of cusses. Then a “Wait, hold on-” and footsteps moving away, moving back, and returning to the conversation.

“God damn I’m clumsy today. Got other stuff on my mind, didn’t know how vague that sounded before I said it.” They pause. Looking for the right words.

“Point is, it’s uh. Nice to know you’re not dead. Hi.”

“ **yo.** ”

Another pause.

“...Wow, this is awkward.”

Benrey nods, not realizing and then not caring that the person on the other end of the line couldn’t see.

“ **you made it awkward. had a lil’ fall there did’ja?** ” The phone is practically inside his mouth towards the end of his teasing. He can hear the other reel back at the sound of Benrey’s crackly voice echoing through his room, but he doesn’t get more than a single laugh out when a second voice pipes up.

“Forzen, I just cleaned the floor!”

“I know, I- Hold on, Benrey.” The guard lets out another loud bout of laughter, waiting for things to get resolved. He recognizes the other tone as Darnold, but doesn’t think to attempt a hello over the commotion. A part of him almost feels bad for his old friend.

Benrey hears a door shut on the other side of the phone, and Forzen sighs to himself. Benrey can picture him leaning on the wall of whatever hallway or room he’s escaped to. “You called at a  _ great  _ time, I wonder if you can tell.”

“ **yeah, you got shit going DOWN, bro.** ”

Forzen laughs. He can tell he tries to hide it. “I was getting cakes out the oven with one hand, fuck me I guess.”

“ **you bake?** ” Benrey racks his brains, and settles on thinking it fits a guy like him. The soldier was never really one to care too much for his own profession, so between that and his undisclosed job at YouTube, it seems to be something he’d enjoy.

Forzen, however, doesn’t confirm or deny anything, replying with a simple “What did you want, anyway?”

Ah. Right.

“ **...hang out?** ” The words come out almost fearful for the answer. Benrey struggles not to take it back immediately.

Instead, he does what he knows best, and rambles.

“ **i don’t care if you say no- i mean we’re not friends, bwuuh, whatever. just thought it might be nice cuz i’m stuck in the house- feetmannnn… ran outta shit to eat, he’s gone. groceries. and i’m here, and his games all suck so i can’t play them. too many skeletons, i tell you the shit with the skeletons? it’s- it’s, it’s a looong story, so i don’t wanna be home right now. dr. coomer said it’s looking for us.** ”

“Benre-”

“ **what you’re gonna say no?** ”

“Jesus- No, calm down. I was gonna say there’s a park near our place. I could bring drinks, we can chill?”

Oh.

Easier than expected.

Benrey nods again, but after a moment’s consideration, puts the phone at a more agreeable distance and responds with a satisfied “ **cool.** ”

Forzen relays the park’s whereabouts, Benrey doing his best to save it to his memory. And after a good five minute discussion on which sodas to bring, and what time to meet up at (they settle on a half-hour’s time, giving both the opportunity to get ready and head out), Benrey hangs up and relaxes against the kitchen counter. 

The guard takes a moment to step away from his ‘brand’ of internalizing thoughts. He allows himself to think, and allows himself to think that this might be nice for him.

He had missed his old pal after all.

He only hopes they won’t get into another fight about YouTube personalities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FORZEN APPEARS! And also DARNOLD! I love these two so of course I'm gonna add them, and this seemed like a perfect opportunity!  
> This chapter seems a little lacking in any real action, but don't worry, the next chapter will definitely compensate for that.


	4. Hey, that cloud looks like a skull.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The park meeting goes as well as it could.

“I _WILL_ SHOOT THE DOG.”

Between Tommy’s terrified sobbing, Bubby’s threats to open fire, Coomer’s quickfire translations and Sunkist’s barking, every corner of the room could be considered a new clusterfuck of it’s own. The soldier- Forzen, Gordon had reminded everyone when he called his name, stands before the team with an eerily serious expression. Between him and the others is a circle of turrets, encasing a completely unassuming, horse-sized golden retriever.

Sunkist, of course. Tommy’s perfect dog.

Forzen barks his threats once more, and it’s met with pleading and threats of Bubby and Gordon’s own. Everyone seems frozen in place from the unlikely hostage situation, not wanting to risk injury to the beast with an all too happy expression on it’s face.

It takes everyone a few moments to see Benrey walking up to the circle of weaponry, calm as can be. And when they do, panic only rises in volume.

Benrey tunes it out, and sits perfectly balanced on the nearest turret.

“ **yo.** ”

“Get off that.”

“ **i think you should, uh… let the dog go, man.** ”

“Benr-”

Benrey leans in as close as he can to the other’s face, voice dropping in quality as he drawls out whatever words he can pluck from his stream of consciousness. “ **not your dooooooooooooooooooooog, bro.** ”

The bickering never seems to end, and no one has any idea what Benrey’s goal truly is. Yes, he’s talking Forzen down, but he isn’t actively doing anything to save the poor creature.

Until they realize he is, when a barely noticeable movement catches Gordon’s eye. Benrey’s hand snakes behind his back while he rants about anything and everything he can, pointing to the dog, then gesturing to the group as deliberately as possible.

And after Coomer mumbles the word ‘distraction’, they all get the idea.

Tommy moves to the side. He crouches with his hands on his knees and silently pats them when Sunkist looks over at him. Surprisingly, the dog can read the room as well as any other person, and Sunkist begins slowly worming his way past the turrets.

He’s doing what can only be the canine equivalent of tiptoeing, keeping his head low to the ground and taking small, quiet steps while the others continue to act as though he’s still in peril.

Gordon is quite the believable actor.

Almost too believable, because Benrey can’t help but steal a glance at the turret ring beside him to see if his plan is working.

The whole room seems to skip a beat when Forzen notices.

“HEY-” He straightens up as much as he can, back still hunched, but he’s more than tall enough to loom over the group. And as Forzen rushes past the turrets to the immediately spooked dog, the guard’s eyes widen.

Benrey is standing one moment, and blocking the soldier’s path the next.

Then, he has a gun pressed to his forehead.

Gordon raises his arm cannon. Benrey, against all expectations, signals him to put the weapon down.

He closes his eyes, takes in a breath, and locks eyes with the one before him. Everyone expects some kind of revelation, as though Benrey is about to put the most effort he’s ever used into a sentence. 

“ **yo. avgn didn’t make the concept of an angry gamer guy,** ” Is what he says instead.

“Fucking WHAT?” Gordon’s voice carries out through the room. And he’s about to protest Benrey’s ‘tactics’ again, when he notices Forzen’s expression. Intrigued, surprised, angry, and. Something he can’t pinpoint.

“ **didn’t make what angry is, didn’t like… wasn’t the first gamer online man, people do that shit all the time.** ” Benrey shrugs, pulling his head back and pushing the gun away with a finger held to the barrel. “ **but like, he got ideas from the guy cuz he was popular. people DO that shit, bro, copy for the high- uhh…** ” He circles his hand in the air, thinking of a perfect way to end the rambling session. **“gamer score.** ”

Benrey’s words are the most nonsensical thing the Science Team has ever heard.

Then Forzen replies, and not even Gordon can find the words to express his reaction.

“...Shit, you make a good point.”

“ **let the dog go please?** ”

And Forzen lets out a defeated sigh, deactivating each turret with a simple click of a button, and trudging to Sunkist’s side. “Good dog, Sunkist, go on.”

The four others stare, utterly dumbfounded. Gordon half-expects Sunkist to whip out a gun of his own and open fire, or Forzen turning the turrets back on at the last moment. But Sunkist happily trots over to his owner with the go-ahead, and everyone heaves an overdue sigh of relief.

The chaos in the room subsides into peace.

Which everyone immediately kills off in favour of the chorus of cheers and praises for Sunkist being a brave dog. Coomer gets knocked to the floor by an all to excitable pair of paws somewhere in the middle of the celebration.

Benrey doesn’t catch himself smiling until it’s too late to hide. Until a certain scientist notices.

Gordon rushes forwards to congratulate the guard, pulling him into a side hug before his brain catches up with him. Then there’s a hand on the bullet-proof vest, and a steely look behind smeared glasses.

“How did he know the dog’s name, Benrey?”

“ **wha?** ” The usual response. But surprisingly enough, there’s an actual answer with it. “ **i told him, the fuck did you think,** **_feetmannnnnn?_ **”

He stretches out the taunting nickname as much as he can, head resting on Gordon’s shoulder. There’s a grin full of teeth plastered on his face.

It takes Gordon genuine effort not to immediately say what he’s thinking, which is of course that Benrey somehow planned this, but something like that just wouldn’t make sense after how he helped. And granted, barely any of Benrey’s shit makes sense, but then again, he _had_ heard something a while back that maybe gave this more context.

So, Gordon reaches for his only lifeline, and grabs on tight. “You. Mentioned him back when you were friends, huh?”

“ **ohh yoooo, someone’s learning!** ” The reply earns Benrey an elbow in his side, but he’s far too focused on Gordon’s lopsided grin to react.

He really should have told the guy sooner, huh.

Celebrations eventually fade out, Sunkist’s energy slows back to it’s usual pace, and the room is quiet. Almost relaxed.

That is until Forzen looks to his wrist, eyes widening. “Shit, I’m… Actually late for something, they need me back at YouTube.”

No one seems to care that he isn’t wearing a watch. Not even Gordon. He’s still reeling from whatever the fuck that just was.

Before he can leave, there’s a hand on his shoulder. Benrey swings his weight from one leg to the other for a moment, looking up at the man before him as if he hadn’t just held a gun to him.

“ **wanna hang out after this shit? i got… new game out.** ”

“If you’re not dead, sure.” A joke, but there’s weight to the words.

A quick smile from Forzen, and a double finger gun from Benrey, and the soldier unceremoniously blips out of the room, followed of course by a chipper “Goodbye, Forzen!” From Dr. Coomer.

* * *

The park isn’t exactly a ‘new game’, but Benrey isn’t in a picky mood.

He arrives fashionably late. Which means he gets there almost fifteen minutes after the time they agreed on because he was too busy posing in Gordon’s shirts in the full-length mirror. He’d settled on the t-shirt with the PlayStation logo on it and some grey sweatpants, along with his helmet as always, and finally left with a simple note by the front door if he wasn’t home before anyone else.

The walk to the park only takes a few minutes, ten at the most. It’s not a bad location for someone who’s always shut indoors with a YouTube job and games to play to pick out. Wide stretches of flat grass, sectioned off by winding paths and towering oak trees, the perfect landscape for ball games, kite flying, bike rides, or just the generic stroll. Perhaps the only drawback is the road meeting it’s front, but there’s hardly any traffic and only a few parked cars that it’s barely worth mentioning.

And Benrey isn’t too surprised to see Forzen still waiting for him, decked out in a simple tank top and jeans, making himself comfortable on a wooden bench. What he _is_ surprised to see, however, is Darnold standing in front of him, business-casual, looking understandably impatient and holding what looks to be a cake tin.

“ **hey.** ”

Two faces turn his way. One smiling, one impatient and trying to look intimidating. Darnold, of course, walks forwards and holds the tin out, and Benrey takes it without even a moment’s thought.

“Those,” He points to the receptacle. “Were the Evil Cupcakes we were tryin’ to test-run. Now, I know you probably didn’t mean to, but Forzen dropped all of them because you called.”

Benrey’s eyes widen, the unsettling purple glow pulsing to an even brighter hue as he pops the lid off with both thumbs. Inside sit six, dark brown cupcakes with red icing and matching cases. They’re very noticeably flat.

“And, uh. _I_ don’t want to eat floor cake, so now it’s your problem.”

“ **yooo, free cake.** ” Benrey cheers out in the most monotone voice he can, taking one from the tin and stuffing it into his mouth.

It tastes vaguely like Dr. Pepper and floor cleaner.

Benrey’s lack of a reaction breaks Darnold’s resolve. The facade of an angered man slips, and Darnold meekly rubs at the back of his neck. “Those were supposed to be the start of a new line of work… Do they at least taste good?”

He wrings his hands. Benrey’s eyes lock onto the movement like a predator seeking prey, but there’s nothing more than a deadpan expression on his face when he meets the other’s nervous gaze. And he shrugs.

“ **they need less, uh. mr. clean.** ”

Darnold tries a glare, but it falters before the guard’s smug grin and lidded eyes. And with a sigh, he turns to the ex-soldier, exchanging his exhausted smile for an ‘I’m trying not to laugh at you’ grin from the other. “I gotta go, anyway. You too have a good time, and don’t come back too late?”

“Got it.”

With a nod and a wave, the mixologist departs back to his car. Leaving Benrey and Forzen to watch in comfortable silence, both trying their hardest not to let things get awkward.

Forzen tilts his head down to the empty space on the bench beside him when he finally catches the guard’s eyes. He fishes out the chilled soda cans from a completely illogical void known only to them as their inventories, and hands one over. Benrey takes the other can, cake tin vanished into his own void, and shakes it as hard as he can. Thankfully, he doesn’t open it. Just yet.

They pass the minutes staring up at clouds, watching far-off games of kickball and Frisbee, and occasionally risking their vantage point to chase birds that land too close. The highlight is Benrey managing to catch a pigeon, holding it high above his head with a wide grin splitting his face in two while Forzen scrambles for his phone to take the most high quality, cinematic shots he can. 

He makes a note to send the pictures to Tommy later.

And after the poor bird is set free, and they’re back at the bench, Forzen clears his throat in a not-too-obvious way of saying he has something on his mind.

“We’re, uh. We’re not gonna talk about that phone call?”

“ **wuh?** ”

Forzen shrugs, his arms settle limp over his legs and he kicks a stray rock away with his boot. “Sure I shut you up to get you to calm down, but I still don’t get the whole skeleton thing.”

There’s a deer-in-the-headlights look on Benrey’s face as he stares ahead, staying for only a little too long before he blinks back to reality with a loud “ **OH. right, ok.** ”

Forzen gestures with his hand for him to continue. He isn’t prepared at all.

“ **you know script- the script… thing, made me the end boss thing, thought it was fine. but feetman gayass just HAS to walk in all hot n’ shit and now i can’t do the thing- don’t WANT to cuz he RUINED it cuz he’s cute and. so- script says ‘whuuh no you gotta- follow, gotta be the end guy, get- get SHOT and DIED and you know how sucks that is?** ” 

Benrey finally takes a moment’s pause, looking up at the other’s face, awaiting a response. Forzen only nods. “Our old reality was bullshit and dictated major parts of our life, yeah.” 

He hesitates, then reaches over. A hand that could easily crush Benrey’s skull comes down to rest gently on his shoulder, and he leans into the touch so much he’s up against Forzen’s side before he can catch himself. And the hand snakes around to his far shoulder, and Forzen brings him in.

“Where’s the skeleton coming into that, though…” It’s phrased as an aloud thought more than a question.

In the moment, Benrey remembers how thankful he is to know this guy so well. Benrey isn’t big on expressing emotion, and Forzen treats everything with the same energy as finding a rock that looks rounder than the rest, at least from an outside perspective. He’s never been expressive himself, but he wasn’t made to be. And Benrey simply has a hard time with such things. They understand each other, and give each other loopholes and openings. Forzen’s question isn’t a question, and Benrey feels no pressure to answer.

Which is why he very easily does. “ **didn’t wanna be the big baaaaad guy at the end of stuff, script settled on ‘giant meat puppet’. skeleton puppeteer. grabbed the model after i, uh.** ”

A motion to his gut, Benrey’s arm laying flat above the hidden scar where he’d been crushed. “ **baby’s first death.** ”

For a moment, he’s silent. Forzen pulls him closer, feels the weight of a helmet lean against his side.

“ **followed around since then, didn’t wanna… sleep. it got feetman’s arm separated- he gets aaangry at me. big fight at the end.** ”

“...God.”

Forzen feels Benrey shrug against him. “ **got a smooch though. didn’t die, chunky cheese party and a ride home, s’why i’m out.** **you know transition cutscenes? new map load? feetman’s that- the. van, gateway to reality. pretty cool. pretty... pog.** ”

Leaning back into the bench, he blinks over at the other. “ **...you got out too.** ” Another statement, not a question. Benrey makes a vague hand gesture in his lap that signals Forzen to explain his own side of things. A way to change the subject. And the ex-soldier takes it.

“Some… Guy in a suit took me out, said since I was part of the ‘crew’ I get to leave.” Forzen muses, the explanation never made too much sense to _him_ either. He idly picks up another stone from the path and tosses it at a tree, hiding a fist pump when he sees it embed itself in the bark.

“Didn’t think enough about it to care over a ‘thank you’. And money for a cab.”

“ **you got stuck with ‘mr. potion man i won’t kill anyone’ though, that must suck.** ” He mumbles out without truly meaning anything.

He never had a problem with Darnold, of course. Unfortunately, the potions expert fits the ‘Straight man of the group’ trope almost as much as Gordon, so he’d had no chance of being spared from the Guard’s teasing.

“Darnold’s not bad, when I’m not spilling shit on his nice clean floors. And I’m not killing anyone right now, so no issue.”

“ **does he know you almost killed a dog?** ”

Any other jokes had been water off a duck’s back. This time, Forzen doesn’t brush it aside so easily.

His relaxed expression fades and he gives a quiet shrug. Benrey internally wishes he could shut himself up sometimes, but doesn’t respond with much else besides a “ **...whoops.** ” that Forzen can easily take as the other’s way of apologizing.

The soldier drags a hand up his forehead, scrunching the fabric of his beret in one fist. “Nah, I know. I’ll tell him whenever.”

It’s clear he doesn’t want to.

“So you’re. Haunted, or something.”

Benrey mumbles out a possible excuse for a response. He finally pierces his soda can with his canine and squeezes the metal so he can drink like some kind of sprite vampire. Forzen laughs, it’s a nice change from the uncomfortable quiet. “ **don’t think it’s the real deal anymore though, it’s. fake-out. fake dream skeleton giving me rough nights.** ”

“...Huh.”

“ **huh?** ”

He hears the soldier stifle a second laugh, snorting through his nose and barely hiding the resulting embarrassment. “You got a dollar store skeleton sleep paralysis demon.”

It’s the dumbest, stupidest joke he’s ever heard. And Benrey can’t help the immediate burst of cackling that follows, not caring to notice immediate stares from families and lone walkers alike. It stops as soon as it had started, and Benrey, finally relaxing for the first time that week, flashes Forzen a smile.

“ **i needed this shit** **_so_ ** **bad you don’t even know.** ”

“What, free entry to my shitty jokes?

 _No, your company and a chance to vent_ , Benrey thinks to himself, but like all times before the words stay dormant in his head. Instead, he offers a more usual “ **that was a joke?** ” and a smirk, and gets a fist against his arm.

But though he doesn’t voice it, Benrey’s gratitude shows in other ways.

They finish off their sodas and race to crush them as flat as possible, Benrey wins with an unfair advantage as he sets the can on the walkway and beats it into shape with his helmet (Note: He does not take off his helmet to do this). They abandon the bench not long after to cloud-watch and Benrey somehow points out a cloud that looks exactly like a PS3 controller. The guard lets Forzen info-dump about new game shows for a whole half-hour when they decide to walk around the grounds. He doesn’t even react when the more heated moments end with a hand flying into his face. He laughs. They both laugh at the absurdity of it all, then Forzen goes back to his rambling

And when Darnold eventually calls with trouble at the house, they share a tight hug and the promise to meet up again, before Forzen throws up a peace sign and teleports away. And Benrey walks to the gate with a genuine smile on his face.

It doesn’t last too long.

Benrey returns home to no cars in the driveway.

Though he hadn’t expected the park meetup to take much of a chunk out of his time home alone, he still manages a small pout and a look back to the road behind him before he unlocks the door.

Maybe he can pull up some other games to pass the time. The guard already knows about Gordon’s old SEGA Genesis. And though he has a reputation to uphold by enjoying PS games and PS games only, maybe he can make one or two more exceptions other than Super Punch-Out!!.

Plans made, he shifts his focus onto the kitchen door. He’d already had his fill on soda at the park, but the walk home had sapped him of more than enough energy to want a caffeine boost. Which he gets, at the expense of an entire can of 7-Up and the mug Gordon never lets him touch. Because after he pours the contents of the can in, a weight thumps against the window and he drops everything he’s holding, wincing at the unmistakable sound of broken ceramic.

Pigeons are still a problem in this neighborhood, apparently.

Benrey has no idea how to set up the Genesis. After the five minutes of failing to find a vacuum to hide the broken mug, and the ten more spent fishing out and dusting off what he assumes he needs, Benrey finally accepts he has no idea what to do. He’s sitting beside a pile of unlabeled wires and an unplugged console, and he’s thinking of everything he can say about the ‘ **top 10 console care fail moments** ’ when Gordon finally returns. 

He almost misses the footsteps moving down the hall while he struggles with a tangle of black cables. Four of them, as far as he can tell. Which strikes him as a little odd, since Benrey hadn’t been expecting everyone to return together.

When he picks up the fifth pair of footsteps, the fact that they aren’t coming from one place in the house, he realizes his mistake.

He realizes too late.

The living room door flies open. Benrey stands, backs away, and makes to run in the first direction he chooses. 

Colour bursts into the room as army boots stumble under his weight. Blue, green, orange, a glaring white that fades to silver and bursts out into every colour visible to the human eye and then some. A beautiful spectacle to anyone who doesn’t know what’s really happening.

An attack. Accompanied by tones that strip the man of any energy to struggle. Deceivingly calming notes that make his blood pressure skyrocket and his eyelids droop.

A cocoon. Knitted together so intricately it’s almost mesmerizing.

There’s a pair of bony hands on his shoulders before he can think anything more, and Benrey feels his legs buckle, and his back collide with the carpet.

Blurry orbs flood his vision.

Sliver, mauve, green to charcoal.

You still have to play your role.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY FOR THE WAIT AND I'M LESS SORRY FOR THE CLIFFHANGER
> 
> ALSO HEY THIS IS EVERYWHERE BY NOW BUT ON THE OFF CHANCE YOU HAVEN'T SEEN IT THEN HERE  
> https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co/#  
> BLM


	5. Wish you were here, or I was there

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coomer can't seem to enjoy his date, and Darnold's problems at the house are more pressing than they'd sounded.

It’s not that Gordon hates shopping. He’s grown to enjoy the mediocrity of it. Walking at a leisurely pace with a basket in hand (He can’t push the shopping carts ever since the Cascade), stopping to look out at rows upon rows of vegetables and fruits with way too much plastic packaging than they need.

No, Gordon doesn’t hate shopping. In fact, he loves shopping! What he doesn’t love is having to scout for all the weird requests his housemates insist on him bringing back. 

He’s been staring dumbfounded at the list in his hand for enough time for it to be awkward, doing his best to follow Tommy through the aisles so they don’t get separated. Wading through whole Wikipedia articles for imitation crab meat, Bubby’s almost incomprehensive cursive and literally just a doodle of an ass (Gordon’s, specifically, Benrey even took the time to draw on his sweatpants!) to try and find anything normal, and anything this store actually  _ sells. _

And he’s so swept up in the fact that all Bubby seems to have written down is matches and ‘any toy with wood in it’ that he almost crashes into Tommy. 

“Mr. Freeman, y- You should be more careful! Are you okay?”

“Yeah, sorry, I uh… Reading this.” Gordon knows better than to question why Tommy doesn’t seem at all phased by the feeling of a whole metal basket pushed into his back, instead looking over at what seems to have the man’s attention. 

It’s a Beyblade, unsurprisingly. A pretty decent one too. “You gonna buy it?”

The older man hums in thought, turning over the package in his hand to read the back. “I, hav- I think I have this one. I was thinking, uh. For Benrey? To make him feel better about all this... Stuff.”

In the back of his mind, Gordon wants to say Tommy’s overthinking isn’t necessary because Benrey probably couldn’t care less about what  _ type _ of Beyblade he gets. From all the random spewed bullshit from their trip into Payday 2’s game files, Gordon is pretty sure Benrey would be fine with a spinning top on a zip tie. But now is neither the time or place, so instead, he points to a different spot on the shelf.

“That one’s blue, maybe he’d like that?”

“Oh, a Storm Pegasus!” Tommy makes a beeline for the product, of course, and happily slots both toys into an empty spot in the basket.

He’s clearly too caught up in the gesture, because it isn’t until they’re halfway out of the aisle and back to looking at the produce that he looks back to Gordon, wringing his hands. “Is it- Is it okay if we get both, Mr. Freeman?”

As if money was an issue for any of them right now. With the hush money, Tommy’s shopping money from his father, and duffle bags full of cash and valuables they somehow managed to take with them from Payday 2’s code, Gordon could buy a whole arena without making a dent in his wallet. He smiles with a nod, and Tommy is immediately back to running through their list with that familiar, excited energy he’s always had.

It’s a grounding feeling, watching the guy pick up oranges and turn them over in his hand, noting how a few are deformed or have smaller oranges growing off of them. And of course, he always picks those ones out for their shopping, because ‘human’ (Tommy isn’t human, of course, but he’s close enough to it) nature is pack bonding with the smallest thing. This is the guy who has a pet Roomba with a cracked casing, after all. He named it Fanta.

And Gordon can understand, being damaged goods himself. The deformities, like his arm, just add character. 

Gordon likes Tommy. They have somewhat of an understanding these days, meeting up once a week, shopping in relative quiet unless they need to discuss purchasing choices. Tommy can’t drive, and they both know he’d get a lot of uncomfortable stares if he rode his dog everywhere like he does around the house, so Gordon always picks him up, and they always talk about Sunkist or soda or anything Tommy caught on T.V. on the drive from A to B, and back to A again.

Gordon can’t help zoning out at times, though, so he’s never a stranger to the occasional tap tap or tuning back in to something completely out of context.

And coincidentally, both things happen at that very moment, and Gordon snaps out of his staring contest with the floor tiles to a “Do you, Mr. Freeman?” and a hand ghosting above his shoulder.

“Shit- Sorry man, what?”

“Do you think Dr. Coomer is okay?”

It’s a question that seems to hang in the air. Gordon’s expression answers before  _ he _ can, a worried frown pulling across his face and a look to the side. “He’s worried, man- You know how he gets around shit like this.”

‘Shit like this’ of course referring to the script somehow following them all despite their freedom. An unneeded addition, Tommy knows what he means, as the concerned nod goes to show.

“Hey.” There’s a hand on the man’s shoulder, firm and consoling and just a little too cold to be real flesh. But the familiarity of the gesture is well received either way. Tommy manages a smile, if only for a moment.

“I just don’t like… Seeing him upset, Mr. Freeman. He- He knows how things worked more than we do but it seems like a lot to think about, having to deal with all that.”

“The game stuff, right?” Gordon’s never been too sure just how aware Tommy is about his status as an AI from a video game, but he’s always seemed to know enough.

“Yeah. My dad helps me out with stuff I know, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t have that, and… It’s kinda fucked up.”

A pat to the shoulder, before Gordon moves his hand away to instead pick up the bag of oranges he’s been inspecting. “I know, man.”

He knows the words are overused and possibly a little too empty to be genuine, but he’s never been one for comforting with his words.

Still, he tries. “He’s got Bubby though, right? Someone to vent to, at least he isn’t bottling shit up. And today’s like… A break for him. They’re gonna tear that restaurant down.”

They both laugh, Gordon can only hope he’s joking.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wonders just how destructive that date of theirs is going.

* * *

And somewhere in the back of a restaurant, Bubby and Coomer are having the time of their lives.

Bubby had started off with ordering every little thing he could ask for hot sauce with, while Coomer had laughed apologetically each time a waiter had to confirm his order of ‘Just the entire damn chicken dipped in hot sauce, if you think those little shit baby hot wings are going to cut it, you’ll be receiving the worst Yelp of your life!’, and ordered the steak and a salad.

And of course, he’d been too busy gazing into the other’s closed eyes as he complained to realize when their food was hurriedly and nervously brought over.

Despite Bubby’s abnormally sharp teeth, and the fact that almost every member of the Science Team goes ravenous when presented with food, he retains his composure and eats as politely as he can. And Coomer is more than aware that it’s all a show for the smaller man, but the efforts only make him fall in love a little harder.

Bubby gestures and jabs with his fork as he talks about everything and nothing, spearing his food, tearing it apart, swallowing, then continuing in an easy pattern. Meanwhile Coomer sits utterly mesmerized, head resting on crossed arms over the table, looking up at his partner with a gaze someone only had when they were looking at the dearest thing in their heart.

It’s selfish, really, thinking about it.

How comfortable he is here when there’s still a threat looming over everyone’s shoulders. How willing he’d been to leave, knowing Benrey would be home alone, vulnerable or at the very least bored out of his mind.

The scientist screws his eyes shut, brows pushed together. He can vaguely hear Bubby move onto complaining about how they’d had to abandon their car and walk the rest of the way here, and the way his voice pitches up in emphasis is so endearing that it hurts, and Coomer just can’t think on anything else other than the fact that he’s here and he shouldn’t be.

“..Dr. Coomer?”

He’s enjoying himself and there’s a threat ever close by that they can’t pinpoint, and he has no idea if he even locked all the windows before they left. Hell, they shouldn’t even be outside of the damn game. Maybe if they’d really killed the end boss it wouldn’t have followed them.

What if Coomer had doomed Benrey from the start by telling him to bring the damn skeleton to attention in the first place.

“Coomer?”

Coomer only snaps out of his spiral when he realizes Bubby has been calling his name for the past minute.

“ _ Harold! _ ”

“Mm- Oh! Yes, Bubby?”

Coomer’s head snaps up, and his body leans back into the chair so he’s sitting upright, hands laced together in his lap. His tone is far too happy, clearly forced. And he can see the concern on the other’s face.

“You let your food go cold. I thought you were fucking asleep!”

Coomer lets out a quiet chuckle, one that makes Bubby’s heart leap into his throat and blood rush to his cheeks. Strong, yet ever-gentle hands move his own fork to poke at the lukewarm dish, a sad smile below his mustache.

“Ah… It seems I have! I apologize, I was… Thinking.”

If anyone knows one thing about Bubby, it’s that the man is stubborn to a tee. He’s not about to let the day be soured by something as easily fixed as a cold meal, so pushing himself up from the table, he’s already scoping out the nearest employee. “Let me get a waiter over, we’ll get it replaced.”

The tap of boots on laminated flooring and a flurry of movement is all Coomer registers before there’s a hand on Bubby’s wrist, and a wide-eyed look on both their faces.

Coomer takes a moment to notice he’s only ever seen the other open his eyes in situations of stress or surprise, before his earlier urgency kicks that overactive voice box of his into gear. If Bubby leaves, he really  _ will _ overthink everything.

“Wait a moment, I- ...Please. I… Um.”

He trails off. The hand loosens, and Coomer falls back into his seat, staring uninterested down at his cold steak, poking the garnish with his fork. “Ah, never mind… What I was about to say would have been  _ very _ selfish.”

Bubby stands, frozen in his position of halfway through leaving the table to chew the cooks out. And when he eases back to sitting down, he can’t help the immediate need to comfort by placing a pale, bony hand down atop the larger, more tanned one resting beside an all-too fancy plate.

Bubby squeezes the hand, an attempt at a reassuring smile when Coomer’s eyes drag up to meet his face.

“So what..? I’m selfish all the damn time, and I’m pretty great!”

Another laugh. Bubby can see the lines beside his eyes crease, and his heart flutters again. “I suppose you’re correct..! It’s just… Silly.”

He sighs, gesturing with his free hand in a vague, circular manner.

“We’ve had quite a few heavy topics weighing over our heads these past few days, dear. Of course you’re already aware of my… Current worries about our dear friend Benrey,” Coomer looks to the door as if gesturing to the entity somewhere beyond their location. He only shakes his head hearing the scoff in front of him.

“But I only wanted today to be about  _ us _ , dear, I want to forget about all  _ this  _ for a moment. I don’t care if the steak is cold! It’s by far the  _ least  _ of my worries! I just want you to stay here!”

The fiery expression dulls, and Coomer is left staring at his plate once more. “Isn’t that just… Completely foolish of me.”

He’s about to push away the question when he feels a thin hand on his shoulder.

He knows it’s Bubby’s, but he almost can’t help his eyes trailing from the outstretched limb to the other’s face, as if there’s some part of him that had doubted who it was. The part of him that fears the irrational. The part of him that’s currently the loudest.

“You’re tired.”

A statement, not a question. He nods.

“Benrey isn’t your responsibility, you know.  _ Yes _ you’re looking out for him, but you can’t let that be the only damn thing in your life. You said you were looking forward to this, weren’t you?”

“I was!” In the moment, he smiles. And in the next, he’s back to that exhausted, dull expression that just doesn’t fit. “I was, but I… Just can’t let myself enjoy it.”

He can’t meet Bubby’s eyes, sighing and shrinking in his chair.

“I suppose it’s in my nature to worry… The very concept of a tutorial NPC is to help, after all. And if anything, our current… Predicament, is only showing us how stuck to the script we still are.”

Of course, the script… Bubby would be lying if he said he isn’t still worried about any coding still limiting their newfound freedom, but he’s never been one to dwell on something you can’t change. Rather making the most of what he has, and to hell with consequences.

Coomer, however, never shows that mindset. They’re on opposite ends of the ‘nothing in life matters’ meme. And it’s hard, seeing the man he loves, so torn up over something he couldn’t have known was coming.

“Can’t you just be worried for  _ yourself _ for once?”

No one ever said Bubby is any good at comfort, but he gets his point across when he sees the shorter man finally look up at him. 

“You’ve had this shit about the game on your mind ever since you found out, and now you’re just piling on something else? Do you know how fucking unhealthy that is?”

“I…” He nods, sinking further down until he’s resting his head on the table. “I know, but…”

“But nothing- Coomer.” Bubby hates being so stern at a time like this. Of course, he loves to verbally get someone’s ass, but with Coomer this sad, it’s hard to see any enjoyment. 

“We’re aware of what’s happening, we’re all doing what we can but you can’t just only think about this shit and nothing else. Putting everyone else above yourself- It’s already got you in trouble before, don’t think I don’t remember you getting grabbed!”

Ah yes. The fight. Coomer remembers that too, even without the occasional night terror, he knows he’d still be able to recall the fear he felt stepping between Gordon and what wasn’t Benrey. The painful burning in his lungs, the fall.

The lump in his throat when Bubby came crashing down moments later. All because he’d stepped into danger.

“I suppose you’re right.. It  _ did  _ put you in danger too, dear… And with your aversion to heights.”

“Well- Yes, but my fear of heights isn’t more pressing than your  _ life _ , Harold- But you don’t have to think about it.” He points a finger down onto the table. “This! Right now, this isn’t a life or death situation! It’s a fucking date! Benrey can take care of himself for a few hours. If he can’t, we’ll know when we get home. And we’ll march through that door and deck any skeletons we see right in their goddamn skulls!”

Finally, Coomer laughs. Quiet, and tired, but it’s a start. 

“Thank you, Bubby…” There’s a brighter expression on his face, not too fitting, but his tone isn’t forced. “I’m aware you don’t like him all too much, but… Thank you…”

Bubby makes a vague humming sound through a closed mouth. “Whatever, it’s. A grudge, not a dislike. I’m still not happy with the lack of any damn  _ apology  _ for knocking me into the wall, too.”

“But that wasn’t-”

“I  _ know _ that wasn’t him, Harold.”

Bubby almost immediately curses himself when he sees Coomer’s eyes widen. He catches himself before the poor man sinks into misunderstood upset. “I just. Hold onto anger like that, you know me. Doctor ‘Misplaced Aggression’.”

His eyes are closed once more, but Coomer can tell he rolls them, making a circle in the air with his fork.

“Professor Misplaced Aggression…”

Bubby can hear the soft smile in his words. He smiles back, their hands come to meet in the middle of the table. “Doctor.” He reiterates, and Coomer’s expression is just as loving as it’s always been. 

“Professor!”

Their fingers intertwine. The insistence of Bubby’s doctorate dies in his throat and all he can focus on is the sudden warmth he’s able to steal from Coomer’s hand. And his eyes are open, and inside is a shine brighter than any star that Coomer can’t help but gaze into.

Just like that, the background noise of the restaurant dulls out into a pleasant nothingness. For a moment, it’s just them, and they intend to keep the moment for as long as they can.

Neither are sure who moved in first, but they can’t care less. The kiss is gentle, soft, and yet filled with the love and tenderness of all those years spent wallowing in uncertainty of feelings and all those nights where Bubby would scoot as close as he could to his friend’s side, taking the excuse of their temporary camps being too cold or the far-off growls of otherworldly beings keeping him awake. Of all those times Coomer would catch Bubby staring at him after punching out a hostile entity, and he could see the gears turning in his head, and he laughed and Bubby had to look away to hide his face. 

And there’s a hand against Bubby’s cheek and he can do nothing but lean into the touch, smiling against the other’s mouth. And god does his cold little heart leap at the soft chuckle when his own hand reaches up to meet it. Cold fingers wrapping around the much larger ones that he’s seen cave a skull in within seconds. And yet Coomer is nothing but gentle with him, so caring and genuine that it hurts more than he’d ever care to say that he has so much on his mind.

They both wish they didn’t have to, but they pull away, and they’re both laughing, foreheads pressed together. Hands touching. Coomer leans back in to kiss Bubby’s other cheek, without a care in the world to anyone who might be watching two old men sharing a moment at the back of a restaurant.

Because it’s their moment. And it’s a moment Coomer’s needed for days now.

He could say so much. He could thank the man in front of him for finally pulling his thoughts out of wherever he kept them hidden, he could tell him just how much the date had meant to him when Bubby surprised him with the reservation.

The words “I love you.” Are all he can manage. But all those unspoken words are behind it, and it’s more than enough for them both.

“I love you too…” A laugh. Cackling, but still just as genuine. “But you really need to stop worrying so goddamn much.”

“I know… I’ll do my best.”

Another kiss, before they pull away again. Both leaning back in their chairs with a pleasant silence hanging between them, hands still intertwined. It’s only broken by Coomer, laughing again as he picks up his fork to jab at the cold steak still in front of him.

Bubby gestures to Coomer’s plate with a slow tilt of his head. “It’s only getting colder, Harold…”

“Indeed it is… Such a shame!” Coomer isn’t making a single attempt to salvage his meal despite the childish pout on his face. He runs his thumb across the side of Bubby’s paler hand, and the tender moment between them seems to last a lifetime.

Until the same mischievous glint lights up in both pairs of eyes, and Coomer’s words come out as close to scripted as they’ve been for weeks.

“Bubby, my dear. Would you mind heating it up yourself? I’d hate to cause more work for the cooks, you see…”

Flames ignite around the other’s fingertips before he can even reply, a wicked grin across his face.

“Abso-fucking-lutely, Harold.”

* * *

Gordon can almost barely hear the screams of an entire kitchen staff as he’s fitting his shopping into the back of the van. Maybe he’d register it if Tommy wasn’t skipping through the tracks on his stereo, and Gordon wasn’t repeatedly hyping himself up for the intros of his favourite songs only for them to stop after mere moments, making way for a different instrumental fade-in.

He’d ask Tommy to stop on one song, but he knows all too well that if he starts singing along to Linkin Park in a busy parking lot he’s going to get stared at, because he cannot and will not ignore his love for the band.

He’s tossing the last bag into the van when he feels a sharp, cold hand on his shoulder, and he screams more than he’d care to admit (So much for not getting stares, eh Gordon?) when he spins around.

Only to see the face of a thin, old man staring back at him with the most bemused look he’s ever seen, eyes, for once, wide open and staring right at him.

“I know you’re a bitch baby, Gordon, but am I really that scary?”

It’s Bubby. Of course it’s Bubby.

“Don’t fucking sneak up on me like that, dude!”

“Whatever.” He rolls his eyes, both hands stuffed back into the pockets of his jeans. “The caddie’s engine busted again so we’re taking a ride home with you.”

And as if on cue, the second member of the violent duo happily walks into view with a wave and his usual greetings. The date, very clearly, went well, Gordon can still see the faint red flush on Coomer’s face that he’s not at all trying to hide. “We hope that’s alright with you, Gordon, I don’t think I’d enjoy walking all that way.”

Gordon nods. He can’t exactly say no, Coomer isn’t the kind of person you’d feel good rejecting and Bubby will almost definitely threaten him. “I don’t need the guilt trip, you can hitch a ride. You finished dinner  _ that  _ quickly?”

“Bubby set the table on fire! They hurried us out rather quickly after that.”

He isn’t surprised in the least, or he knows he shouldn’t be. Still, it doesn’t stop the exasperated sigh leaving Gordon’s lips or the exhausted look on his face when he turns to the taller man.

“Bubby- You can’t just set things on fire!”

“Yes I can.”

“Well y- You  _ shouldn’t!” _

A sarcastic grin pushes into his eyes, Bubby once again showing those sharp teeth of his in full view. “And yet, I did! The food was bad anyway.”

Gordon can do nothing more but shake his head while Coomer pipes in with his ever-helpful addition of “I quite enjoyed our meal!”, keeping the back of the van open for both men to climb inside, and checking they’re buckled in on the seats he’s finally managed to fit in there before shutting it and walking to his own door, Tommy already seated and good to go.

Climbing into the driver’s side and buckling up himself, Gordon tosses his phone into the cup holder and turns on the engine. There’s a hole of sorts in the divide between the front and the back, so Coomer and Bubby can both easily lean in and take part in any conversation. Which is nice, until it isn’t, and Bubby can’t help but bring up Gordon’s ‘shit driving’ after enough minutes of blissful nonsense about limited edition soda can designs.

“You aren’t even reaching the proper speed here, we aren’t made of fucking  _ glass, _ Gordon, we won’t break if you speed up!”

Gordon should know better than to argue with anyone’s illogical bullshit by now, but here he is, gripping the wheel for dear life as he grits his teeth and tries his absolute hardest not to lose his last nerve. “Yeah, but  _ other _ people drive down here too, and if I go too fast we’ll crash, Bubby.”

“Only because you’re a shitbaby at driving.” He’s crossing his arms, but Gordon doesn’t even need to look in the rear view mirror to see that. Somehow the absolute smugness resonates in his voice.

“Whose fault is that if I’m trying to  _ focus  _ when you’re arguing with me, man?”

Gordon tries his best to word himself gently; he’s not mad at Bubby, but sometimes the guy just tries his patience. And though he can hear the man scoff and shift in his seat, he’s not about to let up anytime soon.

“All I’m saying is I’d have gotten us  _ home  _ by now!”

“Yeah, and probably with my van in three pieces!”

“Mr. Freeman?”

Tommy’s voice is an honest to god breath of fresh air, especially since Bubby, surprisingly, quietens down almost immediately. Whether that’s from the man’s polite questioning or the fact that Coomer is affectionately patting his shoulder, Gordon doesn’t care to work out. He waves a hand just above the wheel for Tommy to continue.

“Uh- Someone’s calling you, do you want me to answer?” Sure enough, Tommy’s holding Gordon’s phone and flashing a caller ID he doesn’t quite recognise from the split second glance.

Of course driving on the phone isn’t exactly safe with three other people in the car, but from everything else the group has survived, Gordon doesn’t give himself much time to consider before he’s nodding his head, and Tommy’s saying hello to whoever’s there.

Which turns out to be someone he in fact  _ does _ recognize, thanks to the older man’s chipper “Hi, Darnold!”

A smile pulls up on Gordon’s face. He had indeed met Darnold again after the party. They’d exchanged numbers some time after bumping into each other on the street, Darnold looking somewhat in a hurry, but politely sparing time for a conversation and a promise to meet up now they were in a better situation. And while their  _ current _ situation isn’t really ‘better’ anymore, it’s nice to hear a friendly voice. 

There’s also the fact that Bubby might stop arguing to drive, and Gordon is quick to take that chance. “Oh, shit! Turn on the speakerphone, Tommy.”

The man obliges, telling Darnold to wait as he presses the corresponding symbol, holding the phone in the approximate middle of the car so everyone can hear him. Gordon is the first to pipe up.

“Hey, Darnold! You’re on speaker.”

A chorus of greetings drowns out the man’s response, the chipper “Hello, Darnold!” from Coomer, the indifferent “Hello.” from Bubby, and the short and sweet “Hi!” from Tommy, smiling as always. Gordon can almost hear the cogs in his head turn as he fights to get back on track. 

“Heya, guys- Uhh… Can I ask you somethin’ a little weird?”

“Dramatic changes in DNA from potion usage are nothing to be ashamed of, Darnold!” Coomer chimes in with no tact whatsoever. And Gordon almost turns to shush him, before remembering he is in fact, still in a moving vehicle.

Might want to park up, thinking about it.

And, he does. Scoping out a pullout not too far ahead and turning in, slowing to a halt beside the surrounding plant life. And then, he takes his phone back from Tommy’s hand, and steps outside to lean against the van.

He taps his knuckles to the window, holding up a finger in the universal sign of ‘I’ll only be a minute’. “Ignore him, what’s up?” 

“Well,” Darnold wrings his hands together on the other line, looking anywhere but the phone on the counter. “I called a… Pal of mine about this earlier, he  _ was _ hangin’ out with that guard guy so… He didn’t see anythin’ to back me up, right now he’s scopin’ out the place so it’s not as urgent as it sounds. But, did any of those creatures you said you were fightin’ make it out?”

Gordon doesn’t care to mention the fact that what Darnold is implying is almost  _ definitely _ as urgent as it sounds. “What, like- Headcrabs, peeper puppies?”

“No, uhh… Well, it  _ looked _ like some kinda skeleton, but I’m not sure.”

Oh.

“Not even, like a- Like an _ alien _ skeleton, too, ‘bout as close to human as you could get, besides the, uh. Sharp… Teeth, and the fused. Bones.”

Oh no.

“So, did you ever see somethin’ like that?”

“Oh no…”

Gordon hears a confused hum over the line before he realizes he’s spoken out loud. “...Oh, no you didn’t?” The tone is hopeful, and he can hear the nervous smile in the mixologist’s voice.

He doesn’t have the heart to tell him, especially not when he hears the “All clear, no weird ‘alien people’ walking around.” in the background and knows he doesn’t even have the time to explain. 

“Uh- I don’t… Remember, but we’ll keep an eye out. What was it doing?”

Another hum through the receiver. “Well- Nothin’ too bad, tappin’ the window here, sorta just. Starin’ at me… Then it disappeared!”

Gordon can hear the discomfort, and he’s all too aware someone like Darnold would be terrified in a situation like this. But he can only spare a sympathetic look to his phone before the other speaks up again, somewhat calmer, with that other voice just barely audible in the background. It sounds vaguely like Forzen.

“I gotta go, but. Want me to call back if I see it again?”

“Yeah, uh. Thanks for the heads-up, Darnold, catch you later.” He fumbles with the words, not wanting to seem rude about ending the call so hastily. A shaking hand thumbs the ‘hang up’ button, near breaking the door off it’s hinges as he swings it open and crashes into his seat. He doesn’t bother with the belt and they’re already on the road before Tommy and Coomer can both chastise him for not putting it on.

Only five minutes later does he realize how confused everyone must be.

“Okay.” He can feel every head snap their attention onto him, and he grips the wheel with both hands. One synthetic and one shaking. “Darnold saw it- The. Skeleton.”

“He WHAT?” The voice sounds vaguely like Coomer’s but Gordon doesn’t stop to pinpoint it.

“Outside his window, tapping on the glass. Said he called a guy to come home for help, they were… Hanging out with Benrey, so- I’m gonna guess Forzen? And it- It just left before he got there.”

The silence that follows is near-unbearable for Gordon’s train of thought. And when Coomer speaks, it’s almost worse. “A distraction, Gordon! He’ll be alone now!”

“I  _ know _ he’s alone, that’s why we gotta go make sure he’s okay-”

“Unless he isn’t alone.” Bubby shifts in his spot again, leaning against the van’s interior. He’s looking straight at Coomer, and he hates the fact that he’s seeing the poor man’s brain tick in real time.

“Who- But who could he be with if we’re all here?” Tommy, of course. His voice suggests he’s halfway through realizing what everyone else fears to be true.

Coomer raises a brow, then his eyes widen, and he throws himself forwards and his hands grip Gordon’s seat with so much force the fabric tears.

“Gordon, we need to get home! Right  _ now! _ ”

And Gordon puts the pedal to the metal, and breaks every speed limit he morally can. Bubby calls out multiple times that they’d be there by now if they’d let  _ him _ drive, but every complaint is lost in the sea of Coomer’s pointing out whenever Gordon misses a turn, and Tommy’s frantic updates on how long Benrey’s gone without replying to the many texts he’s pouring in.

They pull in at the expense of a flowerpot placed too close to the driveway. Gordon wrestles with his belt and tells everyone to try calming down so they don’t overwhelm Benrey by marching in. The physicist braces himself to enter first, to get the brunt of the situation while Tommy helps Bubby and Coomer out from the back of the van.

He walks inside to see a broken window and the shattered remains of his favourite coffee mug, in a sad little pile on the floor. The shuffling from the living room tells him this isn’t the time to address it. His shoes thump against laminated flooring, then carpet he knows he’ll have to clean, he swings open the door the moment he reaches it.

Colour floods from behind the wood that’s already chipping and cracking from the times Coomer insists he has to kick it closed.

And there’s Benrey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ONCE AGAIN I'M SO SORRY FOR THE WAIT AND I HOPE THE LENGTH MAKES UP FOR IT  
> WE'RE GETTING INTO THE /BIG/ STUFF NOW FELLAS
> 
> AND ONCE AGAIN I'M LESS SORRY FOR THE CLIFFHANGER (JUMPS) 2

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, more Coomer and Benrey friendship because they make me happy,,
> 
> TL:DR: Benrey gets a nightmare about the Xen fight, Coomer wakes him up.


End file.
